


Rumour Has It

by Goddessprotectus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bottom Draco, Humour, M/M, Misunderstandings, Office Jobs, PA!Draco, Post-War, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-22
Updated: 2016-05-22
Packaged: 2018-06-10 01:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6931537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goddessprotectus/pseuds/Goddessprotectus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco may have taken the job out of post-war necessity, but that doesn't mean he's not enjoying it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rumour Has It

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Bottom!Draco 2013 Adaptations Fest on lj. An adaptation of the Jeeves and Wooster stories by P. G. Woodhouse.

Being five foot seven and weighing eight stone wet through did not make Draco Malfoy any less of a force of nature. In fact, all his diminutive stature did was lure people into a false sense of security so that he could then bend them to his formidable will. It had been this ability that had kept him out of Azkaban after the war, had kept him from having his wand snapped and his magic bound. No amount of Malfoy will power, however, could keep him in possession of his family fortune, which had been seized by the ministry, leaving him all but destitute. This lack of funds was not a problem Draco had to contemplate for very long. In his efforts to remain unincarcerated, Draco had sat in the ministry holding cells and shaken, and looked fragile, and pouted – Merlin , how he’d pouted – until in the end Minister Shacklebolt’s wife herself had insisted to her husband that they simply couldn’t send such a sweet boy to Azkaban, and didn’t he see how delicate Draco was. Shacklebolt had grumbled and moaned but in the end had prized getting laid too much to protest overly, and really, the Malfoy boy couldn’t be that much of a threat. Still, he thought it best that Draco take some menial job at the ministry, just so everybody could keep an eye on him. 

That was where Draco’s other skills came in handy. Draco was a natural organiser, and it just so happened that the Minister had a new undersecretary for the new Department of Magical Unity and Togetherness who was in desperate need of organisation. Draco was swiftly assigned as a Personal Assistant to the rather inexperienced new undersecretary, Harry Potter. Draco was none too pleased to discover exactly who his employer was, and he had very nearly refused outright. But, while petty schoolboy grudges and differing sides in a not-so-petty war were all very, not having enough money to feed oneself rather put things in perspective. And really, all he had to do was call the man Mr Potter, and make the occasional cup of tea; and Mr Potter really did look quite delectable in work robes, once Draco had shown him what they were; and really it wasn’t so very long ago that Draco had considered himself rather in love with Mr Harry Potter. So he somewhat swallowed his pride, and put up with Mr Potter’s constant tardiness to important meetings, and gritted his teeth when Auror Weasley dropped in – who only came by to suggest that they just have an inter-house orgy, ‘cause that was togetherness, wasn’t it, while staring absently at Pansy’s breasts, who, as Draco had engineered luck to have it, was Mr Potter’s secretary – and he did his job.

 

It was eight o’clock on the morning of Marina Shacklebolt’s wedding to Roger Davies that Draco double-checked his clothes in the mirror and flooed to Mr Potter’s flat. It was not unusual for him to visit Mr Potter before work to ensure that the man was adequately dressed for the ministry. Between that and the office, he spent very little time in his own dingy bedsit, which was all the better really. Today, however, it was particularly important that he was there in a timely fashion; he had to brief Mr Potter on the social etiquette of attending the Minister’s daughter’s wedding. There would be press everywhere looking for a scoop, as well as influential purebloods who resented Mr Potter’s place in the ministry, waiting for him to slip up.

Draco stepped into Mr Potter’s living room and opened the curtains. It was a bright, summers day, as befitted the occasion, and Draco wouldn’t have put it past Shacklebolt to have performed a little weather magic to ensure that everything was perfect for darling daughter’s special day. He repeated this process in Mr Potter’s bedroom, the light revealing Mr Potter, still wrapped in his duvet, groaning at he brightness. Draco respectfully turned away as Mr Potter collected himself, and picked out some dress robes from Mr Potter’s wardrobe.

“I think these will do for toady, sir.” He said as he laid them on the bed.

Mr Potter was still rubbing his eyes and blinking, and had yet to put on his glasses, but he was awake enough to say “Thank you, Draco. And a cup of tea, if you’d be so kind.”

“Of course, sir.” Draco made his way into the kitchen and easily found the components necessary for tea. Sometimes he thought he knew his way around Mr Potter’s kitchen better that his own.

When he returned to the bedroom, freshly brewed cup in hand, Mr Potter was in the middle of getting dressed. Draco quickly placed the cup on the bedside table and turned away. It was hardly the first time he had seen Mr Potter in a state of undress, it happened most mornings, but it still managed to fluster him. He cursed his pale complexion, which showed the rush of blood to his cheeks so completely.

He turned around to see that Mr Potter had finished dressing and automatically reached out to straighten his employer’s comically lopsided collar and used his wand to flick out the creases the Mr Potter had somehow managed to put in the robes in the two minutes they had been in his possession. “I’ve made arrangements for you to escort Daphne Greengrass to the ceremony and reception, sir.”

Mr Potter groaned, “Why do I have to do that?” Draco knew he didn’t really object to Daphne’s company, it was the rumours in the gossip magazines of their impending nuptials that bothered him. 

“Because you’re the Secretary for Magical Unity and Togetherness, and Daphne’s parents are known to have had Death Eater sympathies, so you appear to be unbiased in your favouring of her, but they kept their hands clean enough for her to be a respectable date for you.” Unlike Draco’s own parents and Draco himself.

“But why do I have to take anyone at all?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll throw out the seating plan if you go alone.”

“Well, why don’t I just take you?” Draco shivered pleasantly at the wording. “It’s not like anyone will mistake us for being together.” And the tingling feeling was gone.

“Because that will look like you couldn’t be bothered and just grabbed the Slytherin closest to you.” Not that the Slytherin closest to him would mind.

“But I can’t be bothered.”

“But you can’t allow the public to know that.” Mr Potter sighed and moved around Draco to grab his tea, which Draco took as admission that he was right. “And it’s not like you actually have to marry her, you know she’s just waiting until she has enough money to elope with Greg.” Greg Goyle was Mr Potter’s security guard, at Draco’s behest, and was not considered an adequate match for Daphne by her parents. Daphne thought otherwise. “Now remember, during the service try to look touched, but don’t get tearful, no one likes a tearful civil servant. Try to stay out of any informal photos, but allow a few formal ones, preferable with the Minister, and make sure Daphne is at your side. You’ll be seated at a table with Daphne and probably some others from the ministry. The meal is likely to be a simple three-course with table service, I sincerely doubt that the Minister’s daughter will have opted for a buffet, so start with the cutlery on the outside and move inwards with each course. There’ll most likely be wine on the table, offer it around, starting with the ladies, before you pour your own glass, and do try not to get drunk. We don’t want a repeat of the Lithuanian Embassy’s Christmas Ball again, do we?” Mr Potter winced at he reminder of that particular debacle.

 

Harry reflected that the ceremony couldn’t have been anymore dull if it had been conducted in Gobbledygook. Perhaps it had been, for all the attention Harry had paid it. He hadn’t exactly needed Draco’s warning not to tear up. They filed out of the pavilion in which the ceremony had been held and onto the lawn. They were in open parkland on the west side of Lake Windermere, muggle-repelling charms firmly in place around the perimeter. It had been a controversial decision on Marina’s part to have the wedding out of London, where all government business was held, but Harry was grateful for it. It was nice to be out of the hustle and bustle of the capital, and breathe some fresher country air.

Daphne took his arm and guided him over to where a smartly dressed waiter was holding a tray of champagne flutes. “Just the one,” Daphne cautioned. She too had been present for the Lithuanian Embassy’s Christmas Ball, and neither she nor Draco would allow him to forget it.

He took the proffered glass and allowed himself to relax as Daphne guided him through the necessary small talk with rich purebloods. He had to admit that while he didn’t enjoy the publicity generated by bringing a date to a social event, Daphne was invaluable to him at times when it was important for him to make a good impression, and Draco couldn’t be there to guide him. He’d have preferred Draco to be there, of course, but it would have seemed odd to have his PA as his plus one to an event like this.

The meal was served on round tables on the lawn. Harry supposed these would have gone in the pavilion had the weather taken a turn for the worse, but as it was there was nothing more than a light breeze over the lake. Harry chose a simple vegetable soup to start, followed by duck breast in a cherry and red wine sauce, and Daphne only had to kick him under the table once when he almost chose the wrong spoon for the soup. The menu was old fashioned, presumably to please the antiquated tastes of the older pureblood diners. Daphne was having the other main course option, rabbit and spring greens, and offered Harry some, but he couldn’t quite face eating something that had once been so cuddly. When Harry voiced this opinion, Daphne merely snorted and told him that lambs were quite cute too, until you skinned them and roasted them with garlic. An old pureblood housewife to Harry’s left gasped in horror at her uncouthness. Daphne just smiled demurely and launched into a story about how her great uncle, Lord Archibald Swinton, had, when summering in Lyon, left a restaurant in disgust at the appalling quality of the roast lamb with gravy, advertised as an English speciality, only to return the next day and buy the restaurant to ensure a better quality of lamb in the future.

It was not until the pudding, raspberry Pavlova or chocolate torte with Chantilly cream, had been eaten and the wedding cake cut that the evening became eventful. As couples were whirling around the dance floor that stood elevated above the grass, Daphne decided that it was probably safer she and Harry take a turn around the lawn in the summer dusk rather than face the horrors of Harry’s dancing. They were only about halfway round when Daphne’s hand suddenly disappeared from Harry’s elbow and shot to her ear.

“Oh, my earring, I just felt it drop.”

“Just now?” Harry pulled out his wand to shed a little light on the situation.

“Yes, Harry please, help me find it. They were a birthday present from Greg.” Harry knew this well enough; he’d given Goyle an advance on his salary so that he could pay for the delicate diamond studs.

Harry cast his wand over the grass and bent to flash it under the low bushes. There was a glint of something under the shrubbery and Harry dropped to a knee to fish it out. As luck would have it, it was indeed Daphne’s earring.

Harry held it up to his date. “Here, is this it?”

It was then that he heard a delighted squeal from behind him. “Oh look, that’s Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass, isn’t it? I knew it, I just knew it!”

That was when a camera flash went off. There was more of a crowd gathering, all exclaiming and muttering and cooing. Harry looked around helplessly from his position on the ground before catching Daphne’s more composed eye. Daphne gave him a pointed look and then did the only thing a respectable young lady could do when apparently being proposed to by the wizarding world’s most eligible bachelor. She swooned into his arms.

 

Harry woke at the same time he did every morning – when Draco pushed open his curtains. Today Draco turned to him and handed him the first page of the Daily Prophet.

“I suppose congratulations are in order, sir.” Draco was smirking.

Harry tipped his head back and groaned. He should have known the picture would have made the papers before either of them had the chance to stop it. After the Lithuanian Embassy’s Christmas Ball, Draco had managed to secure the originals and copies of the photographs before they had left the photographer’s office, by what means Harry wasn’t exactly sure. That method would clearly not work in this case.

Draco folded his arms and set his hip against Harry’s footboard. “Why is it that I can't allow you to attend a wedding alone without you inadvertently becoming engaged, Mr Potter?”

Harry snorted at the man’s coy attitude and skimmed the article in front of him in disgust. It was the usual unsubstantiated drivel about his fictional romance with Daphne, but unfortunately this time it was accompanied by a picture that did look distressingly like him proposing. The light from the camera’s flash glinted off the diamond in such a way as to disguise the fact that it wasn’t actually a ring.

“Daphne’s going to meet you at the office to decide the best course of action, Mr Potter.”

 

Pansy and Draco were already at their desks flanking Mr Potter’s door when he finally arrived at the office, looking flustered and creased despite the fact that Draco had spelled his robes straight not half an hour earlier.

Pansy stood and smoothed her pencil skirt before picking up a sheaf of parchments. She shuffled the papers straight before handing them to Mr Potter.

“Good morning, Mr Potter. Here are the minutes from Tuesday’s muggle-born integration seminar.”

“Thank you, Pansy.”

Draco stood as well and moved to take Mr Potter’s robe from his shoulders. “Good morning, Mr Potter. You have a meeting with Miss Greengrass in ten minutes and lunch with the Secretary for Galleons and Ministry Gold at one-thirty.”

“Thank you, Draco. Could I have a cup of tea, please?”

“Of course, sir.” Draco followed Mr Potter into his office to hang his robe on the peg and then went to fix tea.

By the time Daphne arrived at the office, Mr Potter was happily ensconced in his office with tea and Draco and Pansy were settled back at their desks facing the work pen that housed the rest of the department. The rest of the department that erupted in whispers when their boss’s reputed fiancée arrived.

Daphne embraced both Draco and Pansy in turn, before Draco triggered the verbal relay spell set up to link his and Mr Potter’s desks. “Miss Greengrass to see you, sir.”

“Right,” Mr Potter’s voice came back slightly muffled by the spell, “show her in, Draco.”

Draco ushered Daphne ahead of him into Mr Potter’s office. Mr Potter was behind his desk, and stood to greet Daphne. He asked Draco to stay as well.

“We’ll probably need your help in coming up with a strategy to deal with this.” He admitted sheepishly.

Daphne took the seat opposite Mr Potter’s, while Draco hovered near the door and tried not to think about how good his employer’s shoulders looked in the shirt he had chosen for him that morning. Draco always found it hard to concentrate in Mr Potter’s office, seeing the man so scruffy and rumpled, in spite Draco’s best efforts, in stark contrast with the room that Draco kept scrupulously neat.

“The problem is,” Daphne began their scheming, “that my parents really want the marriage to go ahead.”

Mr Potter scrubbed a hand through his hair. “There is no marriage, except perhaps yours to Goyle.”

“You know that, and I know that,” Daphne countered, “but my parents do not know that. Or at least they don’t want to know that. They’ve already released a press statement saying how happy they are for us and that they’ve always known we were perfect for each other.”

“And you’ve explained to them that I didn’t mean to propose?”

Daphne looked at him as though she thought he was mentally handicapped. “Of course I have, but they don’t care. This is the most advantageous marriage they could have hoped for, and they won’t let it go easily. They don’t see the fact that you didn’t mean to propose as any reason for us not to marry.”

“And what if I just release a statement saying that we’re not getting married, end of story?”

This time it was Draco who stared at the young civil servant incredulously. “Then every pureblood housewife in the country gets up in arms about the breach of contract and writes to the Minister demanding your blood for how poorly you’ve treated one of their own, sir. Any traction you’ve gained in that set is completely lost, as are your hopes to reconcile old-world purebloods to the new order.”

Mr Potter paled at that. “Damn, this is serious. Do you have any ideas, Draco? Perhaps we should leak the photos of the Lithuanian Embassy Christmas Ball, after all. It would make a point. You still have them, don’t you?”

Draco felt his cheeks heat; oh yes, he still had those photographs, kept very safely beside his bed. “Nothing that drastic, sir.” Although not far off, he had to admit. “I was just thinking that if you can’t breach this imaginary contract, then…”

“I’ll have to.” Daphne finished.

“Yes,” Draco conceded.

“And are you going to do that? Release a statement yourself?”

“No, sir.” Draco replied before Daphne could. “Anything Daphne says will be checked with her parents before it’s published, no one wants to get on the wrong side of the Greengrasses. No, unfortunately in this case Daphne’s actions will speak louder then her words.”

“What did you have in mind?” asked Daphne curiously.

“How soon were you and Greg planning to elope?”

 

Harry had just arrived back from his lunch meeting when he heard muffled voices outside his door.

“Mr Weasley, what and unexpected pleasure. Do you have an appointment?” Harry could just make out Draco’s words through the heavy door.

“Nope.” That was definitely Ron. Harry loved it when Ron came to visit, it got Draco fluffed up like an angry cat.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me? Shall I call through to ask him if he’s available to see you?”

“That would be good, yeah.” Ron was always supremely unconcerned by Draco’s cool tone.

Harry was ready when the vocal relay spell went off and Draco’s voice resonated through his office. “Mr Weasley’s here to see you, sir. Shall I send him in or ask him to come back later?”

“Send him in, if you don’t mind, Draco.”

The door opened and Ron entered, followed closely by Draco. “Will that be all, sir?” He looked exactly as Harry had envisaged, flustered and fluffy while trying to appear detached.

“Yes, thank you Draco. Just tell Pansy to send the report for Emerson in as soon as she’s copied it up.”

Draco left and Ron turned to Harry. “You do know that you’re the only person in the building to have a secretary and a PA don’t you?”

“Yep.”

“And why exactly is this the case?” Ron looked amused rather than inquisitive, as if he already knew the answer.

“Because Draco doesn’t do filing, or copy up drafts, or take dictation.”

“So you just keep him around ‘cause you fancy him.”

“Well there is that,” they both laughed. “C’mon, seriously, Ron, you know he runs my life for me.”

“And what has wonder-ferret come up with to get you out of this one, then?” They both knew what he was referring to.

“Don’t call him that. And who says I haven’t come up with something myself?”

“Because, like you said, he runs you life for you. Or the bits you’re too clueless to deal with, like that time…”

“Don’t,” Harry interrupted him, “mention the Lithuanian Embassy Christmas Ball.”

Ron just snorted affectionately. “You really are useless, Harry. So what’s your favourite obsession got up his sleeve this time?”

“Well, you know how Daphne and Greg have been saving up to, er, take some time off, so to speak?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I’ll just give them a bit of cash to make their trip that much sooner.”

“So basically, she’s just gonna marry someone else. That’s not quite as ingenious as ferret boy usually is. What’s stopping them getting lynched by a bunch of your groupies looking to defend your honour?”

“Er – don’t call him that – that would be the rather expensive honeymoon I buy them very publically as a wedding present. Hopefully it’ll show my happiness at their nuptials. Then, when Dapnhe is Mrs Gregory Goyle, she can release the story of how I wasn’t actually proposing. God knows if anyone will believe it, but that’s not really important. At least no one will be able to say either of us has wronged the other, and that’ll be the end of that.”

“Seems like your gonna be footing a rather hefty bill for all of this.”

“Yeah, but it’s worth it to prevent a diplomatic incident with the old-school purebloods and their ilk.”

They talked about lighter topics for few minutes, before Ron suggested that they both get back to work. Harry walked him to the door, having been well trained in office etiquette by Draco, and showed him out into the pen. Ron predictably stopped in front of Pansy’s desk.

“Hey, Pansy.”

She looked up from her desk, perfectly plucked eyebrow raised. “Good afternoon, Mr Weasley.”

“How about you and me go out for a drink sometime and practice some magical togetherness?” Ron’s pick up lines were awful, but he looked hopeful.

Pansy looked back at her work. “Good afternoon, Mr Weasley.” She reiterated pointedly.

Ron left, yet again disappointed. Harry noticed some junior assistants giggling as they watched his auror physique make its way out of the office, and before he closed his door he heard Draco call in saccharine tones: “Hannah, Jane, you’d best make sure those pureblood to muggle-born marriage statistics are on Mr Potter’s desk by four, or I know how disappointed he’ll be.”

Sometimes, Harry reflected, his favourite obsession could be an absolute bitch.

 

Draco watched Mr Potter sway to a sitting position the sofa. He and Draco had attended the departmental celebration of Daphne and Greg’s elopement at the Leaky, and Mr Potter had been so well on his way to being completely wankered that Draco couldn’t in good conscience allow him to apparate home himself. It was hardly the first time Draco had seen his employer in such a state, and he knew Mr Potter to be a good-natured drunk, so it wasn’t too arduous a task, more amusing than anything else.

“I think, sir, that bed would be a better option for you than the sofa at the moment.” Draco reached out a hand to help the man up, but Mr Potter instead used it to pull Draco down next to him.

“Nope, like it here.” He slurred, then he slumped against Draco’s side. “Need to say thank you, Draco.”

“Thank you for what, sir?” Draco gently tried to right him, but he was a dead weight.

“For helping me out, you always help me out.” Mr Potter’s voice was indistinct against Draco’s shoulder.

“It’s no trouble to apparate here before I go home, sir, but I really think you should go to bed now if you don’t want to wake up on the sofa tomorrow.”

“Didn’t mean… help… this evening.” Mr Potter’s sentences were loosing coherence as he fought to stay awake. “Meant… sorting out all that… rubbish… with Daphne.”

“That was no trouble either, sir. More serving my own interests, really. Won’t do me any good if I loose you. Work-wise, I mean, sir.” Draco knew that Mr Potter was too drunk to infer any other meaning from the sentence.

“You don’t have to be that polite… y’know. Pansy… not that polite.” Mr Potter replied with a nudge to Draco’s side.

“Pansy isn’t that polite to anyone, sir. I really do think you should go to bed now.” Having Mr Potter practically on top of him wasn’t doing certain parts of his anatomy any favours.

“And you always help you… help me, I mean… help me out. Even when you don’t have to. Maybe I should give you a raise.” The man giggled to himself. “Like that time at the Lith-u-anian Embassy… Embassy Ball… when they got pictures of me getting head from the Lith… Lithaynan quiddutch… quidditch player who plays for the Falcons.”

Draco shuddered at the memory. “Vytautas Abakanowicz,” he put in automatically. God, he’d been so jealous he’d thought he might die.

“Yeah, him.” Mr Potter snuggled more into Draco’s shoulder. “Didn’t want him though.”

“No?” replied Draco, unsettled by the turn the conversation had taken.

“No.” Harry replied decisively. He seemed to have woken up a bit. “You’ve been so helpful, Draco, think you deserve a reward.”

And then he leaned forward and pressed his lips messily to Draco’s. Draco wanted to push him off and tell him he was drunk and that they should both just go to bed – separately – but somehow that just didn’t happen. Somehow Draco was melting backwards and moaning into Harry’s mouth and trying to get their bodies as close together as possible. When they broke apart for air Harry smiled dopily down at him. “Now… bed’s a good idea.” 

That set Draco’s brain into motion again. He had been trying to get Mr Potter to go to bed because Mr Potter was absolutely off his face. And because he was absolutely off his face, this was definitely not a good idea. “No, Mr Potter, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I mean you should go to bed, but by yourself. You don’t want to do anything you’ll regret tomorrow.”

Mr Potter looked outraged. “Won’t regret anything.”

“Yes, sir, you will. You’re very drunk and you’re not thinking clearly, or you wouldn’t be doing this.” This was taking all of Draco’s self-control, but he couldn’t go into work on Monday and face Mr Potter’s awkward regret.

“Won’t regret anything. Do the spell.” He demanded.

Draco sighed and placed a palm to his forehead. The spell was intended to sober you up if you had one too many butterbeers and wanted to apparate safely, not five too many shots of Russian Snegurka-made vodka and couldn’t sit up safely. “No, sir, you’ll be sick.”

“Won’t. Do it.” He replied staunchly.

Draco sighed and stood up. He pulled out his wand and muttered: “perpurgare.”

Mr Potter shuddered and rubbed his face with his hands. “Oh, God, I hate that.”

Draco just looked at him. “If you’re going to be sick, sir, could you do it somewhere that isn’t on me.”

“I’m not going to be sick.” There was an awkward pause in which Draco stowed his wand back in his robes and Mr Potter levered himself off the sofa. “Look, Draco, you were right that I wouldn’t have kissed you if I hadn’t been drunk.” Draco swallowed and reminded himself that he had expected this. “But not for the reason that you’re thinking.” Mr Potter hurried on. “I do find you very attractive…”

“But,” Draco continued tightly.

“But you’re my employee, and it’s not like you can just switch jobs if my… advances make you uncomfortable, staying in this job is a condition of your suspended sentence.”

“Right,” Draco said hollowly.

Mr Potter laid a hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Draco, look at me.” Draco complied. “I’m not sorry I kissed you.”

“Why not?” Draco was more confused than ever.

“Because from the way you responded to it I don’t have to worry about making you uncomfortable anymore.”

Draco blushed. “Sir…”

“I meant what I said before, you don’t need to be so formal.” His grip tightened on Draco’s shoulder.

“Harry, then. You don’t have to say this to spare my feelings or because you’re embarrassed about what happened before. We can just go home and pretend none of this ever happened.”

Harry looked at Draco slyly. “But you don’t want to do that, do you, Draco? You’d prefer if we did this.”

Then Harry was kissing him again, and it was all mouths and tongues and teeth biting each other’s lips. Harry pulled Draco’s robe off, his own discarded upon entering the apartment, and hoisted the smaller man off the ground. Draco wrapped his legs quickly around Harry to keep his balance and ground their hips together. Their kiss remained frantic as Harry set Draco’s back against the nearest wall. They ground together rhythmically as their tongues played.

Harry broke contact to in order to kiss and nip at Draco’s neck. “We need a bed,” Draco panted.

The other man chuckled. “This time, we’re agreement.”

Draco’s legs slipped to the floor, but he was still trapped by Harry between his legs. “You’re gonna have to move if you want us to make it to the bedroom.”

Reluctantly, Harry pulled away completely and made led the way to the bedroom. He turned and sealed his lips against Draco’s as soon as the blond had caught up with him. He sucked on the other man’s bottom lip as he slowly divested him of his shirt. Draco began to do the same to Harry, too needy to be shy anymore. Shirts discarded, Harry broke their kiss, this time to back onto the bed and pull himself up to the headboard. Draco took a moment to admire Harry’s defined chest and abdomen and his smooth, light-olive skin.

Harry smiled gently at him. “Well, you’ve been trying to get me into bed all evening. What are you going to do now that I’m here?”

Draco didn’t even need a moment to think. “I want to suck your cock.” He whispered as he climbed onto the bed after Harry.

Harry let out a groan. “I have absolutely no problem with that.”

Draco reached Harry and began to undo his belt. Harry lifted his hips for Draco to pull off his trousers and boxers, his cock sprung free and Draco closed his hand around it. Draco savoured this moment, first contact. Harry’s cock was heavy in his hand, slightly above average in size and swollen with blood. He kicked a leg over to straddle Harry’s knees and dipped his head to lick the tip before sinking his mouth onto it. Harry’s was thicker than any other cock he’d sucked, so he had more trouble deep throating than usual, and the angle was awkward. Draco shuffled until he resting on his elbows, hands brushing Harry’s hips. He could take more in at this angle, and Harry’s hand came down to stroke his hair in appreciation.

“Yeah, just like that.” He heard Harry moan as he sucked languidly.

Soon, Harry began to guide Draco’s movements, increasing the pace and pushing Draco to take a little more. Draco moaned at Harry’s tender control and did his best to accommodate him. Just as the rhythm was starting to get the better of Draco, Harry gently slid him off his cock.

“Too close,” he explained, “I want to come inside you.”

They swapped places on the bed, Draco lying on his back and Harry hovering above him. Harry manoeuvred Draco’s trousers and boxers off, and knelt between his legs. He stroked Draco’s cock in an exploratory fashion, before taking it into his mouth. Draco mewled at the unexpected move and clutched Harry’s hair. Harry proceeded to suck Draco’s soul out through cock until Draco stuttered a warning and he had to back off or risk Draco coming too soon. He moved down to suck on Draco’s balls, tightly drawn up to his body, and then licked down to his rim. Draco cried out and ground down onto Harry’s face.

“Oh, god, Harry please. Don’t stop.”

Harry didn’t stop, he pushed his tongue into Draco’s hole and sucked. Draco’s hips came off the bed as he shouted Harry’s name. Harry grinned as best he could and went to work. When Draco had been loosened sufficiently and was a whimpering mess on the bed, Harry slipped two fingers in next to his tongue and stretched him. Draco moaned distractedly and bore down on his fingers.

“Now, now, come on, Harry, I want it now.”

“What do you want?” Harry asked breathlessly, knowing he was teasing.

Draco groaned. “Your cock, Harry, I want your cock in me.”

Harry scrambled for the lube in the draw of the bedside table and wasted no time in slicking his cock with it. Then he pushed his lubed-up fingers back into Draco’s hole. Draco shook his head against the pillows. “Now, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Harry muttered absently, “you’re desperate for it.”

Draco started up a litany of ‘now’s until Harry slowly pressed the head of his cock into him. Draco tipped his head back on the bed; he loved this bit, slowly being filled until he couldn’t take anymore. Harry was so thick – he was so full, the stretch so good.

Harry groaned as he slid into Draco’s tight heat. He dropped his head to Draco’s collarbone and mouthed at the skin there. His hips found a steady pace of movement in and out, and he adjusted the angle until he found the spot that made Draco swear and arch off the bed. As he moved faster and harder, he raised his head to capture Draco’s mouth with his own and swallow down his desperate moans.

Draco’s hands found Harry’s waist, and his nails dug frantic gauges into his back. He felt like he was on fire, every nerve-ending overloaded with pleasure. He brought his hips up to meet Harry’s downwards thrusts and moved a hand between their bodies to squeeze his cock. Harry pulled his arm away and linked their hands on the bedding.

“You’re gonna come on my cock, baby. I’m gonna make you come.”

Draco shuddered. “Oh God yeah, make me come, I need to come.”

Harry redoubled his efforts and thrust harder into Draco’s body. He could feel himself reaching his peak, and he made sure to hit Draco’s prostate with every thrust, wanting to bring Draco off before he lost control. Draco was clenching around him uncontrollably, thrashing on the bed and whimpering little strings of nonsense to himself. Harry saw his cock twitch, and then he was coming, streaking both of their stomachs and calling out Harry’s name. Harry wasn’t far behind him, the contractions of Draco’s body bringing him over the edge in just another few thrusts.

Harry collapsed next to Draco as his aftershocks faded. Draco nestled tiredly into his side. They were both pleasantly sated and riding high on endorphins. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this content, certainly never with another lover. It was a long time before either of them spoke. 

Draco broke the comfortable silence. “Is it going to be awkward when we wake up tomorrow and see each other?”

Harry laughed. “Draco, I wake up every morning and see you. Having you in my bed rather than next to it will only be an improvement.”

Draco sighed contentedly. “I suppose that is true.”


End file.
